


The Reception

by k0daavzii



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Feelings, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 11:11:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6751618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k0daavzii/pseuds/k0daavzii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tarrie takes a moment for herself during the reception of her wedding, and Alistair decides to join her... They then have some fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reception

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been editing this since... January? December?? A very long time. Hopefully it hasn't been over-edited but eh. My first fic!!! On this account... I don't think I've written anything seriously for six or seven years! At least nothing I haven't heavily edited and then posted to a site like this.
> 
> Thank you to my good friend Lola for all her hard work and help. You're truly amazing!

Tarrie excused herself at last from speaking further with the Orlesian shem— no, human. The word _shem_ was not necessarily a cruel word, but considering who her new husband was... perhaps it was best to stop using that word. Despite the fact that the nobles had nothing kind to say about her people, and nothing else interesting to say, today of all days she had no care for any of it. On any other day but her wedding, she would have been enraged, but the food and festivities had mollified her.

She made her way past some other guests, her long gold and white dress trailing and swishing over the floor. It was a fine dress from a Ferelden tailor, who was inspired by the drawings of ceremonial Dalish garb Tarrie had shown them. Her hair had been braided with love by Leliana that morning; intricate but not gaudy. Perfect. Everything around her that day was splendid and exciting. The people were surrounded by the smell of the sweet drinks and heady smoke from the fire, their laughter loud and joyous. All the colors of the bright flowers, bold banners, and fine clothes surrounded her. Tarrie found it was hard to take a step without bumping into someone, or treading on their shoes and silks.

At last, she burst into the side room, taking in a needed breath of cool air. She was accustomed quiet days and nights out in the wilderness, with naught but the soft sounds of the camp. In comparison, the castle of Denerim was overwhelming. She had expected the entire day to be one of blissful happiness, but it had become too much. It was not as if she was upset, just the opposite. She was married to the love of her life now, and her friends and even much of her clan had been there to see. The Keeper and Merrill had decided it was best to stay away from the eyes of Templars, and Morrigan was… just gone. It all remained far too much to process, let alone in a few celebratory hours.

The elvehn woman heaved a sigh, and then rolled her head around to stretch her neck. She didn’t hear the sound of approaching footsteps until the person who made them spoke.

“You won’t _believe_ where I just caught—Tarrie, love, are you alright?”

Her head had jerked up to look at him, startled, but she sighed in relief when she recognized it was Alistair. Her husband. He looked so regal in his fine Ferelden clothes; like a king. His shoulders appeared broader, and the seams on the bodice outlined the strength of his form. The boots he wore defined his calves, his dark breeches complimented his thighs, and the sash at his waist drew the entire ensemble together. He was nothing short of handsome. But he was still the same clumsy man, with his hair a tad ruffled and a faint blush on his cheeks from excitement. His hazel eyes looked at her with great concern as he approached with a hand open towards her.

“I’m fine, Alistair. I just didn’t hear you come in,” she answered at last. She took his hand and kissed it, making Alistair grin wide. “Now what was it you saw?”

The man blinked, recalling what he was saying before. His eyes lit up when he remembered. “Those two are incorrigible, I swear!” he said with exuberance. “Garlan and Zevran, on the balcony!”

“Did you interrupt them?” Tarrie asked, with mild concern but also with amusement. It was quite possible that Garlan was her closest friend, second _only_ to Alistair. When they met, Duncan had been escorting him out of the servant’s passage in the back of Cousland castle. Though it took time, they became close as they fought against the blight. Naturally, she had always been excited to hear of him and Zevran becoming more intimate….

“What? No, they were only kissing.” Alistair grimaced a little, making Tarrie roll her eyes. “But why would they have brought a potion with them?” he wondered, his tone hushed in an aside to himself. When Tarrie gave him a certain look, his face drooped in shock. “Oh… that wasn’t a potion.”

Tarrie shook her head, mouthing a silent ‘no.’

Both of them laughed, Alistair more so in embarrassment, before the man leaned down and placed a tender kiss on her lips. All the tension Tarrie had been holding in her body before melted away. Alistair often had that effect on her. His body then slumped against her own, an arm wound around her waist-- She was not the only tense one, it seemed. Alistair drew her in closer as her own arms slid around his neck and shoulders. When their kiss finally broke, Alistair looked all at once dazed and exhilarated.

“Have I told you today how lovely you look?” he asked with breathless admiration.

Tarrie gave a fond chuckle. “Oh just a few times,” she answered. “But it never hurts to hear you say it again.”

Alistair grinned and kissed her again, but with much more vigor. Tarrie giggled into the kiss, enjoying their little stolen moment away from the crowds. Alistair had been her rock through the blight, and she hoped she had been the same for him. When he finally proposed to her she was not entirely surprised, but she had still cried. After everything that had happened, she found one little part of her world that wasn't bad. Like the rose he had given her from Lothering.

Just when she thought their moment would come to a close so they could go back to the gathering, Alistair moved. His other arm gripping just under her rear before he hoisted her into the air. Tarrie sucked in a sharp breath—she often forgot just how strong he was—and tightened her embrace.  

“What are you doing?” she whispered, as he walked forward. He smirked, and she felt a cool, hard surface beneath her. He placed her on a table with care, letting her sit before he began to kiss her neck, and sliding the shoulders of her dress down. His hands were warm and tender upon her skin.

“Alistair!” she breathed, shocked despite her smile. “Here? Weren’t you just saying something about Garlan and Zev being incorrigible?” she teased.

Alistair paused, looking up at her. “You’re right. I guess we’ll have to be quiet then,” he quipped then, smirking.

Tarrie knew she should have been bashful at least, if not completely ashamed, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted him, and he knew it. She attempted to appear upset with him by pursing her lips, but the corners of her mouth still turned up when he cocked a brow at her. Damn that brow. Damn his whole face!

“We’ll be an utter mess,” she protested weakly, the bodice of her dress finally pulling away from her chest. Though the room was warm, her nipples perked in moments, and Alistair admired them with a wanton smile. But he did pause to consider her statement. Then Tarrie saw the thought dawn on him, and he locked his eyes with hers, resting a hand on her face.

“Then if you’ll allow me, my wife,” he murmured, close enough that she could feel his breath on her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. “I’ll simply have some dessert, and then we can go back.”

Tarrie was quite aware of how flushed her skin was, and how heat was pooling between her legs. Alistair loved his euphemisms. And though most of them were corny, Tarrie loved them too.

She nodded, smiling. “You most certainly may, my husband.” she answered, and her heart fluttered with glee when she said the word. Her _husband_. He stole a kiss, excited but brief, before his head ducked down and he took one pert nipple into his mouth.

She gasped with delight, but closed her mouth in time to stifle her moan. Alistair, amused by the sound, breathed a chuckle. One of his hands went to her other breast, fondling the tip with his fingers and making her shiver, while the other began to pull up the skirt of her dress to reveal her legs. Tarrie kissed the top of his head. He was always so gentle and sweet with her. Not once had he crossed a line when they were together. She thought she would never want to be intimate with anyone, for fear that something would go wrong. But Alistair had calmed that thought in an instant, just by the touch of his hands. It was moments like these she thanked her lucky stars that they met.

Alistair glanced up at Tarrie again, waiting for her nod of approval before he continued. She gave it eagerly. He knelt down on the floor, and guided her legs over his shoulders. What followed was a series of some snickers, a swear or two, and lots of shushing from the both of them as Alistair tried to remove her underwear without having to unseat Tarrie.

When they were finally pulled off, forgotten with a careless toss to the side, Alistair groaned a soft, “Maker’s breath…” before leaning in.

Another strangled moan came from Tarrie, her hand stroked his hair as he licked and sucked at her clit. She leaned back on her free hand, concentrating on keeping her breath quiet.

The door was still ajar, a beam of golden light streaming into the shaded room. Tarrie could hear the sounds of laughter and song drifting in from the main hall. She thought perhaps she should be more afraid of being caught, but she could not bring herself to care. Who would blame them anyway? (Morrigan probably, Tarrie thought, but she wasn’t here. And she refused to let her ruin this moment, just this once.)

Alistair’s tongue made several, long strokes up from her entrance to the tip of her swollen nub, causing her to utter a soft whine. The low rumble of his amused chuckles made her smile. She forgot completely about the door. As her husband’s tongue circled around and around, she leaned back to rest on the table, spreading her legs wide. Alistair kept them over his shoulders, and his hands held her hips in his firm hands as his ministrations intensified.

Tarrie’s hips bucked a little as Alistair slipped a finger inside of her, followed soon after by a second. She did her best to remain quiet, but it became increasingly difficult as pleasure surged through her. She settled for soft pants while whispering praises and swears. Not all were in the King’s Tongue, as there was not quite a proper translation.

Alistair didn’t seem to mind; he took it as a sign to push her even farther. His fingers were quick, his tongue rough. Her whole body began to quiver and shake. Her hand fisted in his hair. She was so blissfully close! His name fell from her lips over and over, urging him to go faster. He complied and Tarrie bit her lip, shutting her eyes, trying not to cry out.

Her shivers peaked to a crescendo and her back arched as her mouth fell open, though no sound escaped. She came as quiet as she could, sighing and shaking while Alistair’s tongue continued its long, soothing strokes. As she settled back onto the table at last, she hummed her pleasure as Alistair  persisted lapping at her folds. He withdrew his fingers, and left a trail of kisses along her thigh before he finally stood.

Tarrie let her legs fall, and Alistair helped her to sit up, fixing her bodice so it covered her again. Tarrie held his face to kiss him, finding that his lips were slick and sweet. It made Tarrie giggle with salacious glee.

They finally broke apart and Alistair wiped his mouth, and then his hand on his pants. The action made Tarrie roll her eyes-- he _did_ say he was raised by wolves, once. Alistair then surveyed the floor with a frown.

“Where’s your underwear?” he asked.

“Didn’t you put it down there?” Tarrie questioned, pointing to the stone floor.

They both looked around, confused, until Tarrie noticed the door was open wider than before. She just glimpsed the sight of the stubby tail of Garlan’s mabari, King, leaving the scene. Alistair saw Tarrie go pale, and followed her stare.

“We have to stop that hound,” Tarrie stated, her tone grave.

In a flash, both wardens were fumbling over each other, giggling with embarrassment as they rushed out of the room after the dog.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment because you love me or this fic


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